


A red checked shirt

by letitmclennon



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Anniversary, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, McLennon, Red checked shirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 06:56:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11481057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letitmclennon/pseuds/letitmclennon
Summary: “What’s up?”“Oh, nothing.” Paul said, trying to hide his embarrassment, “I just found this one.”“So what?”John’s confused look made him worrying.“You don’t remember, do you?”





	A red checked shirt

“Mr. McCartney, this is for you.”  
Paul turned towards the boy on their dressing room’s door. He was very young, probably new here, and already involved in the set-up of Wings’s first gig in New York. It was perfectly clear the reverential respect in his eyes. It was something Paul had seen many times by now, and still he had never gotten used to.  
He got up, walking away for a moment from his new band and his daughters, who were playing very noisily. Paul went to the boy, who seemed very scared of interrupting their post-gig party. In his hands there was a basket full of presents: some flowers, a box of chocolate and many letters and packages.  
“Who sends it?” Paul asked, picking up the basket.  
“Your fans, sir, they left them in the entry.”  
“Thanks… um…”  
“Michael, sir, my name’s Michael.” The boy answered right away.  
“Thank you very much, Michael.” Paul said with a wink, “Very kind of you.”  
Michael smiled briefly, and with a nod he went away.  
Paul chuckled to himself and started to look around his presents. He put the flowers aside, while chocolate went with the other food. He would have read the letters later, but the packages aroused his curiosity. After all he knew that some fans were very original about choosing what to give him. By now he had an enviable collection with all sorts of plushies and female underwear. It was funny when he was younger and single, but now he was married with a family, and it was a little bit inappropriate. Fortunately Linda became used to it quite soon. She perfectly knew who she was married to!  
Amongst all those presents, though, there was something very soft which drew his attention. He immediately took it in his hands and started to unwrapped it.  
The chatter of his bandmates and the shrieks of his daughters became just a muffled noise all round him, when he ended up with a shirt in his hands.  
A red checked shirt.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
“And how much will you stay away?”  
Paul was sitting on John’s bed, gently strumming his guitar while he was staring at his mate stuffing clothes in a little rucksack. John was about to leave for Durness.  
“Don’t worry, Macca. I’ll see your stupid face in just a week.”  
“Mm.”  
Paul mumbled, bending his head, and John stopped immediately to look at him with a very clever smile. He knew very well what was in his bandmate’s little head.  
“Please, not again, Paul.”  
“What?” Paul asked, looking at him curiously.  
“You’re going to be a fucking pansy. Again.”  
Paul pouted, outraged, resting his guitar aside, “I’m not.”  
“Yes, you are, I know you by now. You’re going to say you’ll be missing me and that you hope I’ll come back soon.”  
John laughed, teasing him, and Paul snorted, crossing his arms on his chest, “Go fuck yourself, Lennon. I heartily recommend it.”  
“I’ll gladly do it. But, first of all, I’ll ask you a favour.”  
“My arse!” Paul mumbled, pouting deeply.  
“That’ll be wonderful. Maybe later, Paulie. At the moment I was thinking something less entertaining. And if you’ll do it for me, I promise I’ll tell you something beautiful.”  
The promise John was offering him was quite tempting and it worked: Paul turned to look at him, lifting an eyebrow.  
“What is it?”  
“Well, do me a favour first, and then I’ll tell you. I’m not so stupid, am I?”  
The boy on the bed sighed, defeated, “Let’s see.”  
“Could you bring me that pair of white jeans in the closet, please?”  
“That’s all? What’s the matter with you? Your Highness is too exhausted for a little walk?”  
It was literally just a walk, two fucking steps, Paul thought dragging himself on his feet.  
“Hey, someone is working really hard here and it’s not you. And, I’m sorry for asking you, sir, but haven’t you come here to help me?  
“I came just to say goodbye, that’s all. Now I’m regretting it.”  
John giggled, getting back to his task: putting clothes, underwear and anything else in the suitcase.  
Paul opened the closet and looked for John’s white jeans on the shelves. He hated those jeans. John was irresistible with them on, and Paul have seen him pulling too many birds in Liverpool. Did he have to bring those to Durness? Why couldn’t he choose something else?  
Biting his lower lip to hold back his sudden jealousy attack, Paul tried to focus on his task. When he saw the jeans, he reached for them and started to pull back, but his attention was caught by something else. It was the well-known colour of a roughly folded shirt, hidden between the messy and crumpled clothes.  
He immediately recognised that shirt: it was the same shirt John was wearing when they met for the first time three years ago. Three long, wonderful, perfect years ago.  
Paul grabbed it and stared, unaware he had a very stupid smile on his lips. He was caught up remembering that day, how fucking awesome was seeing John playing and singing for the first time, how Paul was thrilled while he was performing in front of someone that looked like bloody Elvis. So when John called him, Paul jumped.  
“What’s up?”  
“Oh, nothing.” Paul said, trying to hide his embarrassment, “I just found this one.”  
“So what?”  
John’s confused look made him worrying.  
“You don’t remember, do you?”  
“I remember it’s a terrible shirt.” John pointed out, looking at it with a sneer, “How the fuck could I even wear it?”  
Paul sighed and looked the shirt with a very deep desire, “If you don’t like it anymore, can I take it?”  
“Don’t even talk about it. At least you must tell me first what it should remind me. I have to know what sort of relic I’m giving away.”  
“Well, if you don’t remember it, maybe it’s not important for you. Don’t you think?” Paul asked very disappointed, throwing the jeans across his face.  
John stared to Paul’s pout for a while, then he walked over him and pushed the boy on the bed.  
“What the fuck are you going to do?” Paul complained, trying to get up again.  
All his efforts were useless, John was faster and climbed on him, pinning him down against the mattress with his body’s weight.  
“I am a fucking egocentric and forgetful prick, Paul! Tell me now and don’t act like a fucking pansy. It’s just so stupid.”  
“Me.” Paul burst out, “It has to remind you of me.”  
John seemed to think about it very well, before he had an enlightenment, and then he smiled.  
“Oh, yeah, it’s that shirt, isn’t it?”  
Paul curled his lips in a deeper pout, and looked away towards the shirt. It has slipped away from his hands when John had grabbed his wrists.  
“Paul, you’re so cute when you’re mad at me, but please, don’t be.”  
Paul just ignored him.  
“Come on, you know how I am. It’s not really my fault, is it?” John mumbled, holding the tip of Paul’s nose between his fingers.  
Paul sighed, “Sadly.”  
John bend down, rubbing his face against Paul’s soft cheek, “Please, smile for your good old Johnny.”  
Paul turned to look at him again and stared at John’s begging little smile, so close to Paul that the younger lad shivered unconsciously in his arms.  
“All right then, cheeky bastard.”  
John seemed satisfied when Paul smiled at him. Finally.  
“However I can’t really give it to you, now. I perfectly remember its sentimental value.” John said grabbing the shirt with a hand and hiding it behind his back.  
“It’s not fair.”  
“It’s mine, after all. Perfectly fair. Why the hell do you want it anyway?”  
“Because I like it and it reminds me of you.”  
“You don’t need this to remember me, do you?” John whispered on Paul’s lips.  
The younger lad stared at that sweet and familiar mouth with longing, mumbling something very stupid, “Do I?”  
John shook his head, and then he went down and kissed him, tenderly and passionately, so much that Paul was left with red cheeks and out of breath.  
Maybe, maybe!, John managed to make him forget about that bloody shirt.  
“And… mm… that was the beautiful thing you had to tell me?”  
But not that, apparently.  
What a memory, Macca!  
“Yeah, that was it, stupid git.”  
“It wasn’t exactly something to tell, was it?”  
And then John laughed, before kissing him again and again.  
“Really, Paul, how fucking fussy you are?”  
And again and again…  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Paul held the shirt in his hands.  
The memory, even if so far away, was still so vivid and alive that raised powerful feelings in him. Feelings that would have overwhelmed him right now and then, if Linda didn’t come along.  
“What is it?”  
“Oh, nothing, darling. Present from some fan.”  
Linda stared at the shirt with a smile, before turning towards her husband, “They never gave you a shirt, did they?”  
“No.” Paul said with a smile, “Never.”  
The woman giggled and picked up one of the chocolates boxes for the girls.  
Paul looked again at the shirt, noticing a little note that was sticking out from the small pocket. He immediately took it to read it, even if he already knew what was written on.  
And most important, who had written it.  
‘Happy anniversary, Paul.’

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Thank you very much for reading this little oneshot. I hope you liked it.  
> It was something I wrote for the Mclennon anniversary. What a great day for the mclennon fandom. :D


End file.
